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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720964">Methods I Knew</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyofheart/pseuds/roxyofheart'>roxyofheart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Depression, Explicit Suicide, Gen, OCD, Sad, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, major trigger warning, vent - Freeform, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:56:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyofheart/pseuds/roxyofheart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ropes were too hard to tie but there were many tutorials online. Jumping off would be gory and... Where would my body float to?</p><p>(Where Dirk reviews the different ways in which he can go, if he ever does break completely).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Methods I Knew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TRIGGER WARNING: BE ATTENTIVE TO THE TAGS.</p><p>This is a vent oneshot. It shows explicit suicide and has strong wording. If you are sure you want to read it, I hope you can enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In my hidden notebooks, I always drew myself in many different ways. Me laying down and me sitting up, me in the mirror and just my eye from up close. I loved drawing, and it was interesting to see the way I see myself take form: being made by a pencil in front of my eyes. No one could know because that was too personal. But it was nice. <em>Drawing</em>, it felt good.</p><p>I think I was twelve years old when I started to draw myself dying. Wondering did a lot for me: it made me realize I had preferred ways in which I wanted to go, if I ever decided to give up. The first thing I thought of was bleeding out. I thought about grabbing my sword, cutting my arm off, making my skin shower itself and then feel myself die.</p><p>That way of dying was never drawn by me, but there was one that was, repeatedly. I imagined myself, a fragile neck tied to a strong rope, my body hanging from my ceiling. The day would come, and the day would end, and I would stay there. The view would be magnificent; a flying body swinging close to the window, which sometimes showed the sun, and other times showed the moon. Seasons would pass, and I would be there, soulless, doing nothing but rotting away.</p><p>I thought about having my breath taken away from me but it wasn’t where I stopped. My neck breaking, my throat being interrupted, those were my beginnings.</p><p>There were pills, pills I would kill to be able to own. I didn’t have those, but I could imagine myself doing so. One pill, feeling it go away. Thirty pills and… I would hurt all over until my heart sped up. When it did, it wouldn’t take long. I would be gone in seconds, feeling the terrible feeling of slowly dying, remembering each moment of suffering I ever had. That felt good, in my head, and drawing the pills was so therapeutic. Some were oval, and others were round, but they were all white and mortal.</p><p>I didn’t care about anyone I knew, because absolutely no one knew me. Only I knew about my thoughts and my drawings, and no one else was capable of imagining me drowning. My body going blue inside a bathtub, the water around slowly drying itself, as I lay there for the rest of eternity and no one came to find me, just as no one would ever come to know me.</p><p>Then there was poison. Drinking from a cup, poisoning my body beautifully… My insides go stale as my mind goes numb and finally, it is all gone. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt but I don’t care. The pain makes me stop living, and escaping, letting go, is what I must do. And I must leave and I must stop myself from existing. Because if I exist, then the thoughts also exist. And it’s my duty to make sure they don’t.</p><p>Then there’s me falling, that was an amazing one. The stairs go really high and the thoughts are enough to push me forward. In this scenery I live among other humans, and then someone sees, but they aren’t superhuman enough to be able to do anything. They just watch. My fragile body shakes and reaches the ground with such a loud noise. No one more than ten feet away hears, though. No one more than ten feet away will know, know that my head hit the floor and started bleeding like it had never bled before. The sounds went away instantly, and were never able to come back.</p><p>In the actual scenery I had, I would fall into the ocean. It would swallow me like I belonged, and I too would bleed, just a lot less. The height is enough to make me die instantly, but I would feel the pain of rocks hitting my whole body. My brain would tremble inside my head, and more than anything, I’d wish I was dead. In less than two seconds I would be, of course. My body would float. And then it would land somewhere.</p><p>The ocean felt welcoming. It was scary to imagine me drowning inside it, but it also felt so free. I knew it was there to hold me, and I knew it was there to kill me, whenever I needed help, and whenever I needed to feel. It was always there.</p><p>There were many ways I imagined it but it was hard to believe I had favorites. The sight of my body, the feeling of how’d it hurt, everything was so… present. I was so incredibly broken that everything disgusting seemed to have a meaning, even finishing my own life. The thought about my body just deciding to stop and my body hitting the ground with no warning was so hard to resist, it was so bustling in my mind. What people would say, what they’d hear or think, that did not matter. I didn’t have other people, of course, so why would it?</p><p>All I really wanted was to decide, really, because once I did, it would be easier to follow with my plans. I wrote on a piece of paper, drafts of a note that no one would ever read, and then without noticing, I already had hundreds. I could record my voice and record my face but... no one would find any of that, no one would hear anything I had to say. If I left, and when I left, it would just be silence. It's just silence, Dirk. What else do you think is there?</p><p>When I’d know for sure, who knows what would happen? But for the time being, I liked to draw. I liked drawing my blonde hair bleeding from purposeful accidents, my hands going thinner as life was taken away from them. My neck breaking in half and my lungs giving up on themselves, and more than anything, I liked drawing my brain. I liked drawing the day where it would stop thinking, where it would stop imagining and knowing too much. The day I’d finally be gone.</p>
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